Always the Same
by Gariand
Summary: ONESHOT. How do you tell the one you love when you can barely say more than your own name?


**Always the same**

Life's a bitch.

But then again, everyone knows that. Life is a bitch for everyone.

But not everyone has Superbitch Kyle's Mom type lives. Not everyone is doomed to say just their own name and "Livin' a Lie!"

Okay, yes, I can also say "Lords of the Underworld", "Gobbles" and "Jimmy", but that's hardly what anyone would call an extensive vocabulary.

It wasn't that much bother in 4th grade, or 5th grade or even 6th grade; none of the guys cared, I was still part of their group, still the same old Timmy. They treated me just the same as any of the others. Just the same old retarded Timmy. Same old fucking same words over and over again Timmy.

Look at me! I'm doing it again! Repeating myself! Just like I always do! It's always the same thing with me. Always the same…

But then again, _she's _always liked the same. She's always liked Stan, always liked him and nobody else. She's stayed the same. And Stan himself too, he's still the same as he was back at nine years old, matured a little, true, but still practically the same guy with the same tastes, the same habits and the same personality.

So why do I hate sameness? I guess when you repeat yourself so many fucking times you entitled to go a bit doo-lally-tap, eh? Entitled to go fucking crazy because you're stuck saying the same words over and over and not able to say what you want to say to the people who matter. I can't say "Thank you" when someone helps me across the street with my chair, I can't say "Well done" when a friend passes a test, I can't say "I love you" to the girl I love.

People always complain about that; "I can't tell her I love her!" and all that crap. They become afraid, yes, but they could physically say it if they got the courage to. Not me. I can't say it. It's not like I can string a load of words together to describe my feelings to her, it's not like I can tell her exactly what I want to be able to tell her. I know you don't always get what you want, but all I want is to be able to say more to her than just "TIMMAH! Livin' a lie, Timmy!"

I want to tell her how beautiful she is. How her perfectly brushed, shiny hair puts even silk to shame. How I long to caress her skin and feel her breath upon mine. How she makes even coming to school worthwhile just to pass her in the corridor, or to borrow her pencil in calculus. How her eyes are like oceans… or sapphires… never ending, full, perfect and how I long to fall in those eyes, to be able to look into her eyes long enough that everything else is immaterial, and it's just me and her pristine, crystalline eyes. Eyes that reflect her smile, even when she does not grin. Her perfect, jaw dropping smile that blows me away at even a glance.

I want to tell Stan how lucky he is. I want to tell him to protect her, to look after her, to be there when she needs someone. I want to tell him my envy, to let him know that should he put a toe out of line concerning her, I will kill him, because she only deserves complete undying love from someone. I want to tell him to love her, as I would if I were fortunate enough to be in his position.

I want to tell them a lot of things, but I can't. That's life, unfortunately. And I can't do a damn thing to change it. It's always the same, and always will be. The beautiful girls go for the handsome guys. They don't go for the repetitive, huge headed retard of the class. They never have, and never will.

I realise I can't have her, and I can accept that. But if I can break out of this cycle of repetition, if I can shatter the manacles that is the constant encore of my life, then I may at least be a little happier with my situation.

When I see her enter the classroom and sit at her desk next to mine, I make an effort. I don't care that to many other people it might seem futile or childish; I've never wanted to say a word so badly in my life.

She turns to me, maybe expecting me to blurt out my own name like I always do. Maybe she is just humouring me, just looking at me so she is not known as the girl who won't speak to the retarded kid. But her eyes speak different, those eyes that inspire me so much everyday, allow me to say what may be seen as something worthless, but is in fact as precious to me as her eyes.

"W-wendy."

She seems taken aback at first, before her face illuminates into the perfect smile that makes the problems of the world melt away.

"Thanks, Timmy. That's great!"

And that's it. No patronising in her words, no pandering to the retard boy. Honest and sincere response to my new word. And her smile. Just seeing that smile made the effort to finally break the monotony of saying the same words all worthwhile.

And things will be the same, Wendy will still go out with Stan, Stan will still go out with Wendy. I will still be Timmy. But that's okay; it won't bother me so much now. I know it. Because, for one moment, she knew what that one word incorporated. After all, for a kid to speak a new word after years of only the same, it had to mean something.

Things will be the same… mostly.

_FIN_

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**Angsty, yes, but maybe hope at the end? I don't know…**

**I do love couples that no one has considered. Maybe I'll start a Timmy/Wendy trend! But I do love Wendy, I sort of based her in this fic as a girl I have an unrequited love for, so if I went a bit overboard on her description, forgive me, they do say "write about what you know" or at least they do in the Cherokee Hair Tampons episode :D.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Gari**


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